


Blue Sundress

by WhenIFindLoveAgain



Series: The Timekeepers Series [1]
Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:57:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenIFindLoveAgain/pseuds/WhenIFindLoveAgain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Add one later</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sherlock Holmes/Vicar Of Dibley/ The Infernal Devices/ plus my own story, The Timekeeper mix.  
> i was asked by a friend to write this for her

Chapter One  
Tessa  
. . . . . . .   
Tessa Gray stared up at the gray London sky, wiping a thin, long fingered hand across her eyes, where tears threatened to spill, to slip away, down her cheeks, like her life, steadily falling, until it is only her left. She put her hands on the metal railing of Blackfriars Bridge, and continued to stare up at the sunless sky, a sob rising in her throat, ready to choke her, and the parts of her soul that she hadn’t buried with her past. She blinked once, slowly, and gazed down into the murky, horrific depths of the Thames, holding its secrets, as if it were cradling its child. Not many people know this, but water remembers. One could cry, a memory playing like a track record in front of their eyes, the tear could fall, land in a puddle or in liquid, or solid, but somehow, the water remembers. That tear, would remember that memory, that secret. Tessa gazed more intently and thought of how easily it would be to slip into the depths, never to be found, except in the Thames arms, your secrets buried with you, never for them to be parted with you.  
Her fingers shook against the railing, and she clenched them into fists, her knuckles turning to a bold white, as her arms and shoulders shook, a gasp coming from her mouth, as her legs gave way, and she collapsed to a heap on the ground, her whole body racking with shakes, her head twitching to the side. With her hands shaking, unstopping, she reached into her dress, and pulled out a single glass angel wing, its sharpened tip glinting welcoming.   
Tessa remembered, a soft, strangled scream coming from her throat, when she found her aunt on the ground, still, she looked as though she had fallen asleep on the floor.  
Harriet was asleep, in her own way. She wondered when she would fall into it soft arms, not meaning for her niece to find that morning, blood trickling from her ears, nose, mouth, and from the quik underneath her fingernails.   
Tessa rocked silently, now doing nothing to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks and onto her dress of her uncontrollably shaking body.  
On top of the shelf, in the small, New York kitchen, next to the flour and salt, sat a small, glass angel. About half the size of a pint glass. The day, the Harriet died, the angle fell from her shelf, and clattered to the floorboards, the two wings, breaking from the glass dress sharply.  
Tessa never found the second wing. Only the first wing. When the angel had broken, she never could figure out why it hurt her so much, when it went off Nate’s back like water on a loon duck.   
She pulled up her jacket and dress sleeve, leaning against the railing, inwardly wishing for the tremors and shakes to stop rattling her body.  
She drew the angel wing across her left arm, and didn’t wince or make a noise of complaint at the pain, though it was deep.  
When she did cut, after the first time, it never did hurt her. She was just amazed at how delicate one was, and could be.  
She never minded the scars that would be permanent, to remind her of what she had done, it wasn’t something she terribly needed to worry about.  
She watched gently as red droplets oozed down her arm, onto her dress, some onto the coal-blackened ground. “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains, my sense, as though of Hemlock I had drunk, or emptied some dull opiate to the drains. One minute past, and the Lethewards had sunk:” She whispered, repeating the first poem she had ever read. Ode to Nightingale, affected her somehow. It was like it was the words written upon her soul, like angel dust, that it was something that she didn’t quite share with the rest of the people on her life. The poem, to her, felt like it is hers and hers alone. “’Tis not envy of thy happy lot, but been too happy in thine happiness, - that thou, light winged Dryad of the trees in some melodious plot of Beechen green, and the shadows numberless, singest of summer in full-throated ease.” She finished, her hands laying at her side, the shaking having stopped, leaving Tessa Gray to wonder, and stare at the gray sky, now, becoming a silver colour. Tessa stood up, leaning on the railing strongly for support, as she balanced herself, fixing her sleeves, and making sure there weren’t traces of blood around her wrist. She tucked her angel wing back into her pocket and pulled out a petal of Love Lies Bleeding, leaving it to softly, gently and slowly fall to the river. “For you William Herondale,” Tessa whispered. Tessa pulled out a petal of Zephyr for James Carstairs, leaving it to fall, along with Wills. She let a Blue Bell fall for Sophie Collins, A leave from a Wild Plum for Charlotte Branwell and her child, A Delphinium petal for Gabriel Lightwood, A small sprig of Stock for Gideon Lightwood, a petal of Clematis for Henry Branwell, and, a single Bay Leaf for Jessamine Lovelace, the girl who changed but in death, to be the conqueror of all London’s lost souls. “For every single one of you.” She whispered. Her eyes widened in surprise, as the petals and sprig were centimeters away from the water, then flew up into the air, and swept themselves towards the London Institute. Tessa smiled, and drew a hand under her eyes.”It seems now, that only time will tell.”


	2. Chapter Two Jem . . . . . . .

Chapter Two  
Jem  
. . . . . . .   
Again, Jem scrunched up another wasted sheet of parchment and that of ink, and threw it out of his window, and watched it as it caught in the wind, and flew across the streets. Jem smiled softly, and shut his window, pulling the latch in the lock. He pulled a lock of his silvery fringe behind his eye, and sighed, scratching the back of his neck, thinking quietly. He glanced out of the window, grinning, to see a familiar brown head figure in a periwinkle gown, and bone coat, walking up the east/west side of the Institute. He felt the urge to rush outside, and to be with her, but he didn’t. Jem kept his eyes locked on his fiancée’ as she went through the institute gates, and the doorbell rang with a dull, rumbling sound, followed by the clacking of Sophie’s shoes on the floor, running to get the door. Jem laughed softly, and sat on his bed, picking up book from his bedside table, and opened it to the marked page. It hadn’t taken long for him, once he had arrived on the slow boat from china, to be familiarized with the little things that happen all the time around the Institute. The sound of the odd explosions that rocked the paintings on the Institute’s walls: Henry usually misjudging chemical measurements in his laboratory; the sound of, “WILLIAM HERONDALE! Oo, I ain’t, just you wait till I get you on your own your piece of crap…” were the usual threats from Sophie, chasing Will down the corridors, a soaked mop in tow. Then, there were more special sounds, when Will played the piano, or the odd time that Jem caught Sophie softly singing carpenters, or, the extremely rare, time, when Will would talk or chant songs in welsh, making it sound like pure magic, with so many secrets, and past behind it.  
Jem jumped when someone knocked on his door, shaking him away from his reminiscence. Jem opened the door, and wasn’t surprised when a pair of angry blue eyes, under a mop of black hair stared back at him. Jem raised his eyebrows at Will’s arched demeanor. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony Will, come in.” Jem gestured at his parabati, smiling. Will scowled at Jem darkly.  
“You won’t believe what I just heard these werewolf barstards saying about Tess down at the Devil’s Tavern, and what I found out.” Will growled, unclenching and clenching his fists.  
Jem’s expression darkened. Only then, he noticed Will’s knuckles were bleeding, and looked faintly purple. “You should get a healing rune on that,” Jem pointed out, picking up a stele delicately from his desk. It did little to improve Wills expression. Will slumped onto Jem’s bed, and took the stele to his skin, anger radiating from his hunched figure. “I was going by the devils tavern, when I get hit with a rock on my shoulder. I turn around, and it’s these werewolves, just been scum, drunk as the sun hasn’t risen at all in the last forty years. One of them got right up in my face and said, “As you’re Carstairs matey, maybe you could tell him what a whore his wife is, dancing around, and singing at Burlesque, and Miss Lace And Leather.””  
“Will, he was lying. By the angel, why would Tessa be at two of the most notorious strip clubs in England?” Jem said hotly, glaring out the window.  
“That’s exactly what is said,” Will said growled, cracking his neck. “He said whether I want some proof?” I said alright smartarse. I got led down Cable street-“  
“Will, may I ask, how did you get all the way up the east end?”   
“For me to know and for you to never find out Jem.” Will said, now smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Jem sighed and sat down on his desk, and looked at Will, his expression unreadable. Will caught the worry and concern biting his silver irises. Jem continued looking at Will for a long time, and finally said softly, “And what did you find? My fiancée in a thong dancing around a pole, or being in service to some syphilitic docker?” Jem said, still in the same soft tone, his eyes baring Will down to his said mauve core. Will sensed the shake in his parabati’s voice, and Will felt his anger burn out, instead regret feeling his veins. He just hoped that Jem couldn’t see through. “No, she wasn’t doing any of that, no…the club was packed, but there weren’t any strippers of any of that Jem. There were men, and women, and children, all having supper, like any normal restaurant. They were mundane.” Will said, staring deep into his parabati’s silver eyes. “She looked beautiful Jem. She was just singing. You wouldn’t think it was Tess, but it was. Perhaps you could imagine her sing. You wouldn’t even come close Jem.” Will smiled, and gave a small chuckle. “She was powerhouse. I must say, she looks really nice with short hair too.” Will said, resting his head against the post on Jem’s bed.  
Jem grinned, obviously relieved. “She seemed to be genuinely enjoying it too. She seemed really happy, most happy that I have ever seen her I think Jem,” Will finished quietly.  
Jem laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners like an old mans. “Will, why on earth have you gone so red?” Will rolled his eyes, gave the stele back to Jem, and walked out of his bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him. Jem smiled at Will’s retreating back and smiled inwardly. With all the things will said, it could take his emotions to an ecstatic high, then drop to a sub zero or in between, in a matter of seconds. Jem silently slipped out of his door, and saw Tessa coming up the corridor, her face lighting up when she saw him, but sadness filled her aurora, like a jewel, that had been twisted and warped through time, or another incredible power that could build a person, and destroy one.


	3. Chapter Three Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will finds himself thinking more and more about the one girl he cannot have, but keeps on finding little memories, little parts of her wherever he goes.

Will opened the library door, and slung his overcoat over the back of his favourite armchair, now leaking puffs of stuffing from and arm. He went to the nearest shelve, and ran his long, nimble fingers across the bindings of the old books, each one giving him a different feeling, as though for a nanosecond, he saw the lives of the characters unfold in front of his crystalline blue eyes. He stopped as a book, its spine he had touched, had fallen out of its place, onto the floor, creating a small flurry of dust in the air. He picked it up and smiled, for the reason he did not know why, he thought it just felt familiar, like a person’s touch, but that person was forgotten. Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen. He opened the front cover, carefully, as if it could turn to dust at any moment, a piece of parchment fell out, hovering in the air before him, at nose level. Will plucked it from the air, and read the Italic script.  
To whoever may read this:  
Ooh, a book of this category really does appeal to my romantic literature. Saying, what else could a woman want, other than to be swept off her feet by a handsome stranger, for him to fall with her, but she doesn’t find it until the end, when, somehow, it is nearly too late. But then again, in it’s own way, the timing is perfect. By far, a pleasurable and engaging read. Quite ironic really, as for my timing whilst reading this book. For I, have been swept off my feet, and fallen in love with a handsome man. Well, as for me, I consider myself quite lucky. Most people miss their one great love. But I am lucky. I have four great loves.  
Tessa Gray  
Will closed his eyes for a moment, and looked at the high ceiling, a burning sensation prickling the back of his eyes. He slipped the nose into his waistcoat pocket, and put the book into its original place back on the shelf. Will rested his arm on the shelf, leaning his head on his arms, the sound of rain hitting the tiles on the institute roof, and the rattling glass panes of the windows, its sound seemed to become sharpened to Wills ears.  
He looked up as he saw Cecily peek her head around the library door, her expression, open, curious, but her eyes looked concerned. “Will, are you are alright? You…just seem rather quiet, and it was just bothering me a bit…out of you two, Jem is more the quieter one. He is talking more than you in an hour than you do in a day.”  
Will didn’t reply, he padded across the rug, and deposited himself into h=the armchair, causing for stuffing to leak out of the arm.  
Cecily marched into the room, and sat herself on the long oak table in front of her older brother, her crystalline blue eyes she shares with her brother, narrowed slightly. Her expression softened as something dawned on her. She reached over and grasped her brother’s rough hand in her own, to his surprise. “It’s Tessa isn’t it Will? I know you’re in love with her. And Jem is too. I think that you’re scared of many things Will. And, this has a lot to do with it. Everytime you see her, your heart beats for two, not one. But then, it beats for three. Yourself, Jem and Tessa. They’re part of you Will, and you couldn’t react or oppose, because they would break, and for you, it is like you’re breaking yourself into three. With Jem,” Cecily smiled softly. “You’ve known each other for years, you’ve loved each other for years, and, at some point in your lives, particularly for Jem’s life, you’ve looked at each other and thought, “Stay with me”. You simply love them too much, that, if you do make a difference, it will drown you. This is where two things collide Will. The Power Of One and The Power Of Love. There’s something for you to think about Will. Hopefully, it will help you. Or, at least, lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and she will fix you.” Cecily finished, with a small wave, she went from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.  
“Cariad, when did you get so wise, in love, of all subjects?” Will asked.  
Cecily came back into the library, a small smile on her lips. “I didn’t Will. Tessa has a knack for speaking her thoughts aloud. I simply listened to her.” Cecily added with a devilish smile.


	4. Chapter Four Sophie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due t Tessa's indecisiveness, Sophie finds herself entangled in another moment with a certain gentleman.

Sophie sighed, as she slid down to the ground, and leant her head and back against the beautiful marble fireplace, in Tessa’s room, pulling a handkerchief across her brow, smiling. She stretched her fingers pianoist-style, giving a satisfying click from her bones.  
Sophie sighed, stood up, and gathered her brush, pan, bucket of dirty soapy water, going out of Tessa’s bedroom, closing the door with a gentle click behind her.  
Sophie wandered down to the laundry room, tipping the filthy water down the stone sink, the sound of Bridget’s mournful singing twisting and turning its way from the kitchen to the ears of the Institute’s residents.   
Sophie groaned, picked up a wooden spoon from the side of the sink, and mimed stabbing herself in the throat with a great passion.  
“Sophie, what on earth are you doing? Wouldn’t it simply be easier to strangle that parrot in the kitchen?” Tessa suggested dryly, her head around the corner of the entrance to the servants’ quarters, her expression open.  
Sophie smiled, and suppressed a sudden burst of laughter threatening to spill, running from the servants’ quarters’, pushing Tessa up the stairs to the quarters’, killing herself with suppressed laughter.  
“Oh, dear,” She giggled, hand half covering her mouth. “If someone saw us nutcases they’d be horrified! You look rather pleasant if I may say so ma’am.” Sophie added.  
“Soph, what have I told you about calling me ma’am?”  
“Be me pardon.” Sophie said, rolling her eyes slightly.  
“Of course. Sophie, I simply must show you something! Do come.” Tessa beckoned, putting her hand through Sophie’s lightly, running her up the hallway, Tessa holding her skirts around the middle of her thighs, making Sophie protest in alarm. “Tessa, what if someone sees you? And in those heeled boots, how the bloody hell can you even run in them?” Sophie shouted breathlessly, waving her free hand above her head, indignantly.  
“Trust me! I’m a warlock or something of the sort anyway! I’ve been running in heeled shoes since I was eleven!” Tessa shouted, not a bit breathless.  
“Wait, oh, by the angel, my cap’s flew off!” Sophie yelled, her brown curls spilling around her face, and excess of pins tangled in her curls.  
She let go of Tessa’s hand, and dashed as fast as she could with dignity back up through the stone corridor, picking up her cap, also to stare at a pair of highly polished black leather shoes.  
“Miss Collins, in what you are endeavoring to do, may I be of any assistance?” asked Gideon quietly, staring down at Sophie, smiling curling around his mouth. He offered his hand, which Sophie took, and stood up straight, fixing her curls up underneath her cap.  
“Mr Lightwood, you must remember, you should unless your face wishes to suffer consequences from my fists, which I have not at all, forgot about the little interlude involving the scones.” Sophie hissed viciously, tugging her cap down with a furious motion. “And, I must get back to Tessa, and I would much appreciate it if you forgot this moment Mr Lightwood.” Sophie finished crisply, indicating that the conversation ended there, quite there.  
“Oh, if you will allow me, one last thing Miss Collins.” Gideon said, his smile fading, but still there on his lips, like a last glimmering hope. He touched her cheek softly, and planted a butterfly kiss on her cheek, over within a second. He turned swiftly away, giving her a sad smile, turning the corner.  
“Army of one,” Sophie whispered, holding her labour-roughened hand to where Gideon had kissed her. She bowed her head, and raced back down the corridor, to where she startled, to see Tessa leaning against the stone wall, a strange expression lacing her wide gray eyes. “Ode to bloody nightingale.”


	5. Chapter Five Gideon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possibly the humiliating day of Gideon Lightwoods life.

He sighed and stared up at the marble sky, running a hand through his fair hair, closing his green eyes, hoping to block the entire world out, if only for a moment, or maybe forever and a day. Either way, he didn’t care. Well, not entirely.  
He saw a pair of milk chocolate brown eyes, decorated with flecks of gold, a white cap half covering them, with beautiful brown curls spilling down the sides, porcelain white skin…and rock hard scones underneath a bed.  
Gideon shook his head, and tried to clear the disconcerting thoughts from his mind, which, he only succeeded in doing so partially.  
Gideon turned his mind backwards, back to the recollection, and smiled softly.  
He half closed his eyes, and walked through the winding London streets, the sound of the mundanes shouting their wares in cockney accents. That seemed so recognisable and familiar to him on one hand, and on the other, purely an alien chatter.  
He walked towards the markets, where he saw two, small, mundane children, putting letters into a dark red postbox.  
They were well fed, well kept children, in nice little coats, and who must have been their older sister watching them carefully, a grin on her face, only a couple of meters away, in a cherry red gown, brocade lace veil covering her head to the tip of her nose, stitched to a headband, almost invisible against the colour of her hair, which, was a dark, rich brown.  
She looked barely older than Miss Herondale, disposing the tall, wildly free sculpture that made up Miss Herondale’s construction.  
The smallest girl, of the latter, who couldn’t quite reach, to put the letter into the slot, causing her younger sister to giggle madly, putting her small hands over her rose button mouth, the giggles still pouring like the endless winter rain that soaked London.  
Gideon smiled, he felt as though he was doing an awful lot of smiling today, for the turn of advents that had tortured him and Gabriel endlessly for the horrific ten days. He walked over to the child, lifted her up onto his hip, so that she could reach the slot. She put through the letter, and said a polite “Thank-you.” smiling at him.  
He put her gently down onto the ground, where the two immediately ran over to their sister, tugging at her skirts, as she swung them up onto her hips so they could tell her of the advent that had just happened.  
Gideon noticed that she was thrown peculiar looks by the crowd, some whispering and shaking their heads, others talking loud and disapprovingly.   
“Did he now?” The girl said in mock astonishment, as though it was the greatest news she had ever heard, and as though she had not at all witnessed it with her own eyes. “Ah, me good lasses, well, wasn’t he a love?” She said, chuckling, kissing the small ones cheek, tickling the other on the back of the neck, causing more laughing.  
“Excuse me matey! I’d like a word please, now?” She called over to Gideon, beckoning sharply.  
Shit, now that is what happens when your too busy thinking of Sophie, leading to forget applying a glamour rune, Gideon inwardly cursing himself. Giving up the hope of been ignorant to her calls, and swiftly swept over to the woman with all Nephilim grace.  
“Thank-you, Mr, -“  
“Lightwood,” Gideon supplied. “Gideon Lightwood.”  
The girl smiled. “Why thank-you for helping Charisma Mr Lightwood, but, if you are not in a hurry, could you please help me? It’s my carriage. A wheel has performed a rather peculiar stunt, and I can’t fix it. And, I do need to get my girls home soon, I’m taking them to the opera later, but, as the situation now, and as for later this evening, I can’t exactly move location with a stubborn carriage.” She said quickly, taking a deep breath when she was done, her dark eyes hopeful.   
“Yes, of course Ma’am. May I have your permission to ask where your driver is? Surely he would be able to sought out a problem as such as this?”  
“It is not he…it’s a she Mr Lightwood, in fact, I drive the carriage. Much to the disapproval of many I have had the unfortunate displeasure passing. You would think that they thought I was the devil for driving a carriage. But then, it is rather much expected, is it not? Especially as I’m a woman, with two small children to look after.”  
Gideon looked at the girl, unblinkingly, thoroughly surprised.  
“Er, may I ask your name?” he asked, with respect glinting in his voice.  
She smiled wider. “Sophie,” she said. Gideon stopped. He didn’t know which twisted itself into a knot first.  
His senses or his heart.  
“Sophie Ciere, Mr Lightwood.”  
They turned a street corner, where Gideon met a handsome, topless coach, with polished leather seats, and two impeccable black mares, snorting patiently  
“I suppose you would like me to unattach the horses from the coach Mr Lightwood?” asked Sophie, head tilting her head upwards to meet Gideon’s face.  
“I’ll just see to the trouble, and, if it is necessary, yes of course, Soph- Miss Ciere.” Gideon replied, inwardly throttling himself for the perfunctory blunder.  
*  
“Miss Ciere, it seems your left and right back wheels are rubbing on the spine underneath the seats and bonnet.” Gideon said, a frown line appearing between his eyebrows. “However, I think it could still last you of a period of time. I need to give you wheels a kick though, with your permission?”  
“Of course Mr Lightwood.” Sophie said, grinning. “On three I’ll kick one wheel, you kick the other.”  
Gideon’s eyes widened and his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at Sophie’s suggestion. “Miss Ciere, you can’t be seriously suggesting that I will allow you to possibly cause yourself bodily harm, on something I can simply do my- self.”  
“I’ve got a stone block cut to size in the tip of my boot, in case I ever need it, and, I little bit of shoe polish doesn’t go astray in a circumstance such as this Mr Lightwood. Now, this is purely something I have agreed too. Now can we please fix my coach so I can get the children home before it starts to rain please Mr Lightwood?” Sophie said briskly. “Now, on 3, 2, and 1-!“  
The two kicked the wheels with a deafening bang, causing the whole coach to tremble violently, coming to a stop a moment later.  
“Sophie, I think it’s all good now.” Said Charisma, from one of the horses backs, where Sophie had sat her.  
Another deafening bang sounded the air, this time, now as quite as satisfactory as the previous bang.  
When the horses, nearby strangers and animals discontinued to sound an infernal noise, Sophie’s hands clapped to her pale cheeks, her eyes wide open, her eyebrows almost disappearing, at the sight of three wooden wheels rolling down the street, and the coach on its side, a splintered spine shattered, waving splinters in the air, that could very easily partially impale you.  
“Well, bugger me.” Whispered Sophie, scratching the back of her neck.


End file.
